


i'll make this feel like home

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Casual drinking, Graduation, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Moving In Together, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Georgia is my home. <i>Madison</i> is my home! I couldn’t… I…”</p>
<p>“Bitty,” Jack said, so softly that he was surprised when Bitty turned to look at him, lower lip sucked into his mouth. “I don’t think the place you’re scared of returning to is the place you should be calling <i>‘home’</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll make this feel like home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [benjji2795](https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjji2795/gifts).



> Benji, thank you so much for your wonderful prompt, this was a pleasure to write and I hope you enjoy it. Happy Valentines! Thanks to Silvia for beta reading and cheerleading along the way. Title is from 1D's Home.

Bitty picked up the Skype call looking flustered, cheeks pink and eyes a little wet, and Jack felt a pang of regret in his chest for calling unannounced before Bitty could even open his mouth.

“Jack!” he said, brightly, settling into his desk chair, sounding slightly out of breath, “ _ Hey! _ How are you?”

“Good, I’m good, are you— what are you doing? Everything okay?” Jack asked, trying to keep his tone light and casual, something he’d never been very good at. Bitty must have seen right through him, because his smile took on a softer edge, and he scooted closer to the desk in his chair.

“Oh I’m just,” he waved his hand around idly, voice laced with fake nonchalance, “Dancing my feelings out.”

“Uh,” Jack said.

“I’m packing,” Bitty explained, “For good, this time.”

Everything Jack had noticed about Bitty in the past thirty seconds made startling sense. Bitty was graduating very soon, getting ready to leave his room in the Haus. For Jack, the move had been like getting rid of his safety blanket. Even two years down the line, his house still didn’t quite feel like home when his friends weren’t there. His best experiences in Providence — experiences that didn’t involve hockey — had been shared with Shitty and Lardo on the floor of his living area, Bitty in his kitchen, Ransom and Holster out on the terrace.

“I’m sorry, Bittle,” Jack said, frowning as he realised how bare the walls behind Bitty looked. He had the same sinking feeling as he did looking at his empty room across the hall two years ago. Now with Bitty leaving, none of Jack’s old hausmates would live there anymore. “I’d like to say that not being there gets easier over time… But.”

“It doesn’t, does it?” Bitty bit down on his lip, suddenly looking so unbearably sad that Jack thought about grabbing his keys and walking out the door — he could be there in less than an hour, but.

“I have training in the morning,” Jack said, sounding upset to his own ears, but hoping maybe Bitty wouldn’t pick that up quite as easily.

“That’s okay, Jack. I think the frogs are dragging me out for fro-yo soon anyway.” After Ransom and Holster had graduated, they’d given the attic up to Dex and Nursey (who, soon after, had seemingly come to some kind of truce — meaning no physical fights in the Haus and maybe some bed sharing on the coldest nights). 

“You’re still coming for Graduation, right?” Bitty asked, after a moment of contemplative silence from them both. Jack smiled, and it felt like the easiest thing he’d done all night — that day, even.

“Of course,” he replied, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

* * *

For some reason unbeknown to Jack, Bitty seemed  _ surprised _ to see his old Samwell Hockey crew show up at his graduation. He was clutching the front of his gown as it rippled in the breeze, tearfully grateful as Shitty dragged him into a hug, ruffling Bitty’s freshly-shorn undercut with his fingertips.

“Jeez Bits, you didn’t think we’d miss your graduation, did you?”

“I’m just overwhelmed,” Bitty squeaked, as Lardo crowded in on his other side, throwing her arms around his neck. As soon as she let go, Holster swooped in to lift Bitty off his feet and spin him around, before crushing Bitty between him and Ransom.

Finally Bitty got to Jack, and launched forward into his chest, arms looped around Jack’s neck as Jack squeezed him tight.

“Alright, Bittle?” he asked, gently, with just the right amount of chirp judging by Bitty’s sniffly chuckle against the front of Jack’s shirt; Jack stretched to rest his chin atop Bitty’s head. Over the top of Bitty’s head, Jack could see Suzanne and Richard Bittle making their way through the crowd, Suzanne dabbing at her eyes, and Richard’s straight posture giving him the appearance of being taller than he really was. Jack scratched his fingers against the nape of Bitty’s neck.

“Your parents are here,” he said, his tone still soft as Bitty lifted his head and wiped at his eyes. Bitty’s parents had known for a while now that he was gay, and Jack could see in their tentative gazes their surprise at seeing their son so blatantly close to another man. Being  _ held, _ no less, by  _ Jack _ , who had stayed in their house upon occasion. It made his stomach swoop unpleasantly. He dropped his hand to the small of Bitty’s back.

“Dicky,” Suzanne said, eyes soft. “Congratulations.”

“We’re so…” Richard cleared his throat, looked from Jack to Bitty, and nodded, “Proud.”

Jack felt Bitty’s back ripple under his hand, felt him sob before he melted into his mother’s arms, and hugged her tight.

Jack had spent endless nights on the phone, on Skype, listening to Bitty vent; listening to him become tearful, listening to him get angry. His parents were trying to be accepting, but there was only so much that middle aged republicans from a small southern town  _ could _ accept.

Watching Bitty hug his mother on the lawn in front of a sea of folding chairs, his father standing by like a guard, Jack couldn’t be sure if the tears rolling down Bitty’s face where happy or heartbroken.

* * *

Back at the Haus, the Frogs had thrown together something they were calling Bitty’s Last Kegster, which — Jack knew from experience — would  _ not _ be Bitty’s last kegster. The guest of honour himself had been having dinner with his parents before they checked into their hotel for the night, but the party still went into full swing without him.

Shitty and Lardo had set up the largest game of beer pong Jack had ever seen in the kitchen, and most of the racket seemed to be accumulating around it. There was some kind of dance-party happening in the living room, a few unfortunate couples all squashed together on the green couch, kissing, fondling, etc. Jack, a half-cup of beer in his hand, started to make his way up the stairs.

The top of the stairs had been sectioned off with yellow caution tape, warning people to stay away, but Jack figured he was allowed, considering he’d lived in the haus for three years.

Bitty’s room, soon to be empty, was the only room Jack felt comfortable taking refuge in, gently shouldering open the door and flicking on the light. He was surprised to find Bitty there, perched on the bed.

“Bitty,” Jack frowned, “Were you sitting in the dark?”

“Um,” Bitty looked up at him, lips pursed, “I, uh, was too tired to turn on the light.”

It was a thinly veiled lie that Jack hated to bring attention to. So he didn’t.

“I was just looking for a place to hide out. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were home.”

“Oh,” Bitty managed a smile, tilting his head like a curious cat, “It’s ok, I only got back a few minutes ago. From dinner… with my parents.”

Bitty’s smile wavered, and Jack forced himself to look away from his face. He noticed Bitty was still wearing his suit, though his tie was loose and undone, a few buttons of his shirt unfastened. Jack took a step forward, and then another when Bitty didn’t seem to react, until he could sit down on the edge of the bed next to him.

They weren’t quite shoulder-to-shoulder, but just the right height for Bitty to lean in and rest again Jack’s side, chin against his bicep. Jack took Bitty’s hand, lacing their fingers together; he could blame the half cup of beer for it, maybe, but he wasn’t that petty.

“Feel like talking about it?”

Bitty had grown a lot in four years at Samwell. Not just emotionally, but physically — maybe not vertically, but his shoulders and waist and thighs were all thicker with muscle. He felt more solid next to Jack. He felt real.

“It’s just really hitting me, you know?” Bitty said, voice a tight knot in his throat. “Leaving… Going back to Georgia. Being with my parents is hard enough, and I  _ know _ they love me. But there are people out there who—”

Bitty’s voice caught, and his head dropped into his free hand, the other still tangled up with Jack’s.

“Lord. I must’ve had too much wine at dinner.”

“You seem perfectly fine to me,” Jack said, because he could feel Bitty trying to squirrel away his feelings and that never did any good for anyone. Jack knew that best.

“I don’t want to go back into hiding,” Bitty whispered, and maybe it was the defeated slump of his shoulders, the way his lip trembled — maybe it was the single tear that rolled down his perfect, peach-soft cheek, hastily wiped away — but Jack couldn’t stop the words leaving his lips. Not even if he tried.

“So, live with me.”

Bitty laughed, but it was a harsh, wet sound that Jack didn’t like one bit.

“Thanks, Jack,” he said bitterly, taking his hand away. Jack had forgotten he was still holding it, and suddenly his hand felt strangely empty. 

“Don’t— what makes you think I’m joking?” he frowned, voice notching up in offense. Bitty’s back straightened.

“I—”

“You think I’d joke about offering you a safe place to live?  _ Me _ , of all people?”

Bitty turned to stare at him with wide, watery eyes.

“Jack, I— I couldn’t. I  _ couldn’t _ .”

“Why not?”

“Because!” Bitty spluttered. “Georgia is my home.  _ Madison _ is my  _ home _ ! I couldn’t… I…”

Bitty’s gaze turned down towards his knees, hands clasped between his thighs and shoulders hunched as his voice trailed off into nothing. Bitty hated crying, and Jack could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Bitty cry. And most of those had been  _ happy  _ crying, most of them today, his college graduation. It made Jack’s chest ache to see Bitty hurting, and he could only imagine what must have happened at dinner with his parents. Jack had always thought it would take a whole damn lot to reduce Bitty to this kind of trembling mess.

“Bitty,” he said, so softly that he was surprised when Bitty turned to look at him, lower lip sucked into his mouth worryingly. “I don’t think the place you’re scared of returning to is the place you should be calling ‘home’.”

It must have broken the dam, because Bitty started crying for real then, looking away and bowing his head until Jack reached for him. Jack pulling Bitty in under his arm and into the side of his chest, gently rubbing his back as he shook with quiet, hiccupping sobs.

Later, they were both lying on the bed, feet hanging off the edge and their heads beneath Bitty’s window. The party was over, the lights were out, the Haus starting to get quiet in the early hours of the morning. Bitty had stopped crying a while ago, and seemed content to lay there, curled into Jack’s side, breathing even and careful as though afraid he could break down again at any moment.

Suddenly, Bitty sat up, and Jack jolted out of a doze he hadn’t realised he’d slipped into.

“I wouldn’t be able to pay rent… not until I got a job,” he said, biting the nail of his index finger.

“I didn’t say you had to,” Jack replied.

“But—”

“I play in the NHL,” Jack deadpanned, “I made three million last year in endorsements.”

Bitty stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, and then suddenly began to laugh. Jack grinned up at him, watching Bitty’s eyes sparkle with tears again.

“Three times in one day, Bittle? Is this what it’s going to be like when we’re living together?”

Bitty reached behind him to grab the pillow from the head of the bed, and flung it hard at Jack’s chest. Jack ripped it away from him as he laughed, and tucked it behind his head, getting more comfortable. Bitty didn’t bother suggesting getting the roll-out bed for Jack, didn’t even suggest getting into the bed for real. Instead he lay down again, grinning, and reached over to pull his comforter up over them.

Jack was too tired, too happy to care.

He fell asleep in his suit, Bitty’s cheek against his shoulder.

* * *

A truck filled with the contents of Bitty’s life arrived in Providence in July, Suzanne Bittle driving behind it in her blue ford pickup. The boxes in Samwell had been easy enough to travel down to Jack’s house, the forty-minute drive was no problem for Jack. The Falconers hadn’t quite made it to playoffs that year, and he was enjoying the long summer and the free time between training and conditioning sessions.

Bitty had decided to return to Georgia for a few weeks, satisfied in the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to stay there for good. It gave him a chance to pack up things he’d need from his childhood bedroom, say goodbye to friends and neighbours, say goodbye to the town he grew up in.

Jack watched from the front steps of his townhouse as Bitty stepped out of the passenger side of the car, all golden tan and sun-bleached hair from the Georgia summer sun.

“Hey!” he shouted, beaming, and Jack felt a grin stretching his lips, his stomach doing a strange flip as he took in Bitty’s rounded shoulders in a tank top, the length of his legs in denim shorts.

“Looking good, Bittle,” Jack managed to get out, his voice a little croakier than he remembered. Bitty winked.

“Summer. She’s good to me,” he said, brightly, skipping up the steps to throw his arms around Jack’s shoulders and draw him into a tight hug. “And so are you, Jack Zimmermann,” he whispered. Jack breathed in slowly, smiling, and — he wasn’t sure how someone could  _ smell _ like sunlight, but Bitty managed it. He _ embodied _ it.

Bitty pulled back, still beaming, and Jack wondered how he could have ever denied Bitty anything, and remembered how truly terrible he’d once been. He was going to make up for it a million times over.

Suzanne appeared behind Bitty, looking tired but smiling. Jack wondered how long they’d been driving for.

“Suzanne,” he said, remembering all the time she’d chastised him for calling her  _ Mrs Bittle _ , and stooping to hug her too, “There’s coffee inside.”

“You’re an angel, Jack Zimmermann,” she said, reminding him all too much of Bitty as she patted him on the cheek and let him lead her into the kitchen. Why did they insist on saying his full name all the time? “Dicky honey, show the movers where your room is?”

“On it,” Bitty said, already retreating down the steps and into the street, where the van was parked and the movers were waiting.

In the kitchen, Jack got out one of his larger coffee mugs for Suzanne, and filled it with coffee from the Keurig before setting out the cream and sugar. The cup looked comically large in her small hands as she stirred in her sugar, and the barest drop of cream, and Jack tried his hardest not to think about the fact that he was basically taking her only son away from her.

Suzanne twisted to peer down the hall, as if checking to see who was around, before turning back towards Jack with a sad little smile on her face.

“I always knew he wouldn’t stick around down home,” she said, and even though Jack knew she was mourning, the lilt of her accent made even the saddest words sound cheerful and nonchalant. “Even before he told us that he’s… the way he  _ is _ … people knew. Looked at him funny. They knew what he was before he did.”

Jack knew Suzanne loved her son. He just hated the way she talked about him. That she couldn't even say the word ‘gay’.

“Samwell was good for him,” Jack said, and felt the next words forming in his mouth before he could think about them. “It was good for me too.”

Suzanne looked up at him, her face a picture of surprise. To her, it was as good an admission as Jack stapling a Pride flag to his forehead.

“He’s found his place,” Jack said. People had looked at him ‘funny’ too, thought they’d known what he was before he’d known. But he was over six foot tall, weighed most of 200 pounds, and could easily bench press his new housemate if he tried — so it wasn’t for the same reasons as Bitty, not by a long shot, but Jack still knew what it was like to be judged for something you couldn’t help, something you were born with.

Bitty poked his head around the doorframe then, still smiling, sweat shining at his hairline as he dragged a hand back through the strands.

“Jack, honey, we could use some help out here from a big strong hockey player,” he said, a joyful singsong quality to his voice, “Lotsa boxes to move.”

Jack huffed out a laugh, and Suzanne continued to look stunned.

“Yeah, coming, my shoes are at the door,” Jack said, pushing himself up from where he’d slouched against the counter, throwing Suzanne an apologetic glance as he followed her son out into the sunshine.

* * *

Within a week, Jack’s house had suddenly become  _ home _ . The shelves in his living room and kitchen were fuller, there was a soft blanket draped over the back of the sofa, candles in the bathroom. When Bitty wasn’t job-hunting, he was baking and vlogging to his heart’s content in Jack’s kitchen, the air warm and full of thick, hearty scents.

They formed a sort-of-routine fairly quickly.

Some mornings Jack liked to sit at the breakfast bar and watch Bitty cook breakfast, but sometimes they went out and got donuts or Starbucks or something else Jack’s trainer would vehemently hate. Other times Bitty made pancakes, or bacon and eggs, or breakfast biscuits.

In the afternoon Jack worked out and tried to keep up with his on-season fitness levels. Sometimes Bitty would come with him to use the treadmill or the weights, but he didn’t seem as concerned with it as Jack did.

In the evening Jack would sit down on the sofa, arm draped over the back behind Bitty, and they’d surf Netflix until they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer, retreating to their rooms for the night.

Jack wondered if the novelty of living with Bitty would ever wear off, because three weeks in he was still waking up with a smile on his face at the sound of Bitty humming in the kitchen as he cooked.

* * *

Only a small handful of Falconers stuck around in Providence during the off-season, but there was a group of them that trained together in the city and hung out when they could. Jack took Bitty to meet the guys at a bar near the rink one night after dinner, feeling strangely nervous and unsure about it, but eager all the same.

As soon as Jack stepped in the door of the bar, Sasha was on his feet and thundering across the floor, all 6-foot-5 of him.

“Jack!” he yelled, scooping Jack off his feet in a bone-crushing hug. Behind Jack, Bitty made a strange noise and shrunk back.

“Put me down, asshole,” Jack laughed, and shoved at Sasha’s chest once he got his feet back on the ground. “Nice first impression.”

Sasha peered around Jack’s shoulder, looking pink and remorseful. Jack wondered how long the guys had been drinking for, and if he and Bitty would have to catch up.

“Sorry if I scare,” Sasha said, blinking down at Bitty with his sleepy eyes. “Excite to see Jack, you know.”

“Oh it’s alright,” Bitty said, with a timid smile, his eyes soft. “You’re very tall, is all.”

“Tallest Falconer,” Sasha said, puffing out his chest proudly, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“Alright, since no one is introducing themselves. Sasha, this is Eric Bittle, my new housemate. Bittle, this is Alexander Malikov.”

Bitty nodded, starting to smile a bit wider. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” he said, knowingly, as if Sasha could preen any more.

“I hear about small blonde boy too,” Sasha grinned, “Make pie, sing Beyonce, use all hot water.”

Bitty flushed, stuttering out a noise of protest, and Sasha burst out laughing, taking him by the shoulder and steering him towards the booth at the back where Jack could see Fletch and Bergy sitting, watching Sasha with an exasperated look on their face.

“Hey guys, this is Bittle. We went to college together. Bits, that’s Fletch and that’s Bergy. They’re joined at the hip.”

“Are not,” Fletch protested, “I took a piss without him five minutes ago.”

“Sure,” Jack said, brightly, sitting down into the booth, Sasha sitting opposite him. Bitty looked conflicted for a moment before Sasha grinned and grabbed his hand, pulling him down.

“You old enough to drink?” Bergy asked, narrowing his eyes at Bitty.

“I know I look about twelve, but I promise I’m twenty-one,” he said. 

“Don’t be a jerk, Bergy, you know he’s a college graduate,” Fletch snapped, which set them off into a playful bickering session, and Jack rolled his eyes, flagging down a waitress to get them drinks. She hesitated over Bitty, who sighed and showed her his ID. It didn’t make her glower any less, but she still served him.

“How long have you guys been here, anyway?” Jack asked, “Sasha  _ tackled _ me at the door.”

Fletch snorted, “Listen, he’s been matching us vodka-to-beer for the last two hours. He’s well on his way to shit faced.”

“Not get ‘ _ shit faced _ ’. Am Russian. Enjoying company,” Sasha protested, and turned to Bitty, grinning, “Am right, Eric Bittle?”

“I’ve never met anyone Russian before,” Bitty said, and Sasha grinned even wider, somehow.

“Eric. Have much to teach,” he said, turning his body towards Bitty’s in the booth, draping an arm behind him on the booth. Jack looked down at the mug of beer in front of him and bit down on a sigh. Jack didn’t pick up a lot (or at all) when he went out with the team, but Sasha did, and Jack knew what it looked like.

The next time Sasha got up to go to the bar, Jack followed him.

Sasha leaned against the bar, and waved to the bartender, ordering a round of shots for the table.

“Why are you flirting with Bittle?” Jack hissed, as soon as they were out of earshot. Sasha turned his head to the side to regard Jack, raising an eyebrow.

“I listen to Jack for months? For year? Whining about boy he miss, about pie and pumpkin spice. You show up here with blonde boy who smell like cinnamon, and introduce as  _ housemate _ ? _Weak_ , Jack…”

Jack frowned, turning away from Sasha’s searching gaze.

“It can’t be like that with him, Sasha,” he said, weakly.

“Grow fruit, Jack.”

Jack smiled, sadly, “It’s ‘pair’, Sasha, P-A-I-R, not P-E-A-R.”

“Grow balls, grow fruit, not matter. Kiss Eric, that’s what matter.”

Jack wasn’t sure if it was the most convoluted or wisest advice he’d ever been given.

“Maybe grow fruit and he bake pie!” Sasha yelled, as he walked away with the tray of shots, heading back to the table.

* * *

Bitty was listing into Jack’s side as they walked up the steps to the front door, teetering just barely on the good side of ‘too many vodkas’. Jack didn’t drink that kind of liquor anymore, but he remembered how flirty in made him, how talkative and uninhibited.

“The guys really liked you,” Jack said, opening the door and letting Bitty in first. He was steady on his feet, but flushed and tired-looking, and Jack wanted to kiss him, feeling the buzz too but just sober enough to know it was a really bad idea.

“They were so cool,” Bitty agreed. “And Sasha was… tall.”

“ _ Biggest Falconer _ ,” Jack imitated, in a bad Russian accent that made Bitty cackle, and lean forward against Jack’s chest. They toed their shoes off at the door and hung up their jackets. Jack guided Bitty into the kitchen for some preemptive Advil and hydration before bed. 

“He seemed to like you too,” Jack added, filling a glass of water first and passing it towards Bitty.

“I thought I was imagining that,” Bitty said, and if he hadn't been blushing already, then he certainly was now, ducking his head as he turned away and sipped from the glass. “Is he, uh…?”

“Bisexual, but on the down-low because of the Russian thing,” Jack said, biting the inside of his cheek as he sat up on the counter next to the sink. Bitty nodded silently, and sat down at the breakfast bar, sipping again, rubbing at his eyes.

Jack tried to come off as casual, but as usual missed it by about a mile. “Why, are you interested?”

“Oh! No,  _ no _ ,” Bitty blushed, “No, he’s lovely, but he’s… he’s  _ very _ tall, Jack, that would never work. No, I like a nice tall man, but Sasha is  _ ridiculously _ tall.”

“Say tall again,” Jack smirked.

“Darn word has lost all meaning,” Bitty giggled, dropping his head onto the tabletop. “I’m  _ quite  _ drunk, Jack.”

“Me too,” Jack sighed, hopping down from the counter, and in the morning he would blame the alcohol for the way he leaned in and dropped a quick kiss to the back of Bitty’s head as he padded across the kitchen. “C’mon, time for bed,” he yawned.

Bitty slipped off the stool, following Jack up the stairs, but heading for his bedroom at the other end of the hall. Jack wondered if they were drunk enough for cuddles, if it would be weird if he were to follow Bitty and climb into bed with him. And then he decided that if he needed to ask himself if it was weird, then the answer was most likely ‘yes’.

* * *

In Jack’s first year as a Falconer, Shitty had made it a rule that everyone had to attend a home game together at least once a season. Shortly after he instituted the ‘Off Season Rule’, which meant a day of everyone meeting in the city, having a meal, generally just fucking around, and getting drunk in Jack’s ‘ _ bitchin’ new townhaus _ ’ as Lardo had branded it. Accordingly, it always had to take place at Jack’s house, so that he didn’t forget his college friends (and also, for some friendly exploitation of Jack’s amenities ie, the jacuzzi bathtub and the fire pit on the terrace).

With Jack’s birthday quickly approaching, plans for a day trip began to form over the group message. Bitty became increasingly animated as he threw suggestions out to Jack, until eventually they landed on the perfect idea; a group skate.

Jack checked with rink to make sure he could set aside some time after training on August 3rd, and then spent some time in George’s office, chatting to her about his plans with his friends for the weekend. (After the chaos of last year’s Off Season Rule party, George had instated her own rule that Jack warn her and PR before any sort of debauchery took place, even if he wasn’t the one doing the debauching.)

“How has Eric settled in?” George asked, after a few minutes of silence. Jack looked up from where he was slouched in the seat opposite her desk, checking his phone, and smiled.

“Great, I think. He’s met some of the guys, and they really like him. And they haven’t even tried any of his cooking yet.”

George nodded thoughtfully, and then smiled weakly.

“We need a contingency plan, Jack.”

Jack felt his stomach drop.

“For… for what?”

George sighed, setting her laptop aside so she could look directly across at Jack, her arms folded.

“Jack, I know you told me straight up that you didn’t want to come out until you retired, but… now that Eric’s living with you…”

“You think that me living with a gay man is going to be a problem?” Jack frowned, a little snappish, but he couldn’t help it.

George closed her eyes, a pained expression on her face. “That’s another problem we might face with a certain percentage of the fans, yes, but that’s not what I meant, Jack.”

“I don’t understand,” Jack said, stiffly, but understanding  _ entirely _ .

“I think you do,” George saw right through him, as usual.

“Bittle and I are friends. We’ve been friends for a  _ long time  _ now, and—”

“ _ Jack _ . We’re friends, you don’t have to soundbite me. In this room, you don’t have to hide. Never.”

Jack took off his cap, turning it over in his hands to look at the crest, the Falconer’s crest in gold and blue. After Samwell, he wasn’t sure he’d ever find a team that felt so much like home. But this felt close.

Jack knew two things for sure; One; making Bitty go back into the closet was something Jack would  _ never _ do to him. And two; Jack wanted him just as much as — maybe more than — he wanted his name on the Stanley Cup.

“Okay,” he said, lifting his head, “Let’s make some plans.”

George beamed.

* * *

Jack’s birthday fell on a Thursday, but it didn’t matter. To everyone else, this just meant that the weekend started early, and the party could go on for longer. Jack had training in the morning with the guys, but Bitty was at the house to greet people when they started arriving, and by the time Jack hit the showers he could hear the commotion from outside the locker room.

“Your crowd?” Fletch grinned. Jack shrugged on a hoodie, opening his mouth to answer when a scream sounded from down the hall followed by a loud thump.

“BRO, BRO, THAT’S FUCKING  _ CHEATING _ —”

Jack sighed, smiling fondly, “Yeah, sounds like them.”

The doors to the locker room burst open, and Ransom and Holster tumbled in, with Lardo and Bitty on their backs respectively. They were followed by a very flustered Mike, the Equipment Manager, and a laughing Shitty. Jack could see the guest passes dangling around the guy’s necks and figured Mike was just nervous that they’d break something. After hearing the loud commotion from outside just moments earlier, Jack didn’t blame him.

“Holy shit, it’s Jack Zimmermann,” Shitty said, eyes wide and deadly serious. Then his face broke out into a grin and he burst forth between Ransom and Holster to fling himself at Jack. It was only made slightly awkward by the fact that Jack was still sitting in his stall, Fletch on his left and Sasha on his right.

Shitty, fully seated in Jack’s lap, turned to the side and extended his hand to Fletch. “Shitty Knight. Nice to meet you.”

“Knight? Any relation—?”

“Nah, I wish,” Shitty said, wrinkling his nose, turning around to the other side. “Sasha, bro. What’s been going on.”

“You know,” Sasha shrugged, grinning, “Been party. Been playing hockey. Make friends, make enemy, make friends again.”

“Russian phone tree, my guy. I keep telling you, I’ll even help you set it up. Get those misunderstandings sorted in half the time.”

“And I’m keep telling you I’m not give you Ovechkin’s phone number. He not like you.”

“I made an enemy for life that day,” Shitty frowned, and leaned in to tuck his head under Jack’s chin. Jack looked over the top of his head, wide eyed, to see Bitty, Ransom and Holster looking back at him with similar expressions of confusion.

“I don’t want to know,” Jack decided, unceremoniously shoving Shitty off his lap and getting to his feet. “Um, hi guys.”

It’d been longer than Jack wanted to admit since he’d last seen any of them, bar Bitty, but looking at the group it seemed as though nothing had changed since Bitty’s graduation except for some minor details. Lardo’s hair was getting longer again, down past her shoulder on one side but shaved on the other, streaked with deep jewel tones of colour that made her hair shine like a raven’s wing. Holster had been signed by the Rangers and sent down to their AHL team, the  Hartford Wolf Pack, the summer after graduation, when he’d decided he didn’t quite want to quit playing hockey just yet, so his shoulders were just a touch broader, his waist thicker with muscle. Ransom looked much the same, if not slightly more frazzled by the pressure of pre-med at Yale. Shitty, still rocking his moustache and with his flow pulled back into a French braid, had a septum-piercing that infuriated his father in the ‘best way possible’.

And then Bitty, who Jack got to see every morning and every night, who had gotten a haircut last week — his usual undercut look — and let Jack reverently touch the spiky, short hair at the nape of his neck when he got home, laughing and grinning at him. Bitty looked as golden and glowing as ever, if not even more so.

Jack was immediately swallowed up in a group hug, shrieks and bellows around him, most of them sounding like ‘happy birthday!’ and ‘you motherfucker’ or some combination of the two. He could hear Fletch laughing behind him, but he didn’t care.

They had the rink for the rest of day, so the group took their time changing into their skates and chatting before Jack led them down to the ice.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Lardo shouted, sliding out, arms outstretched, “I forgot how much I hate this.”

“I can’t believe I’m skating with AHL legend Adam ‘Birky' Birkholtz,” Bitty teased, clinging onto Holster’s elbow.

“I hate that nickname. And you haven’t even been to any of my fuckin’ games,” Holster shoved him off, and Bitty went sliding backwards, laughing, as Holster pointedly skated into Ransom’s arms. 

It took some time to get organised, but they eventually decided a game of 3-on-3 wouldn’t go astray, and Mike the equipment manager got them some sticks and a bucket of pucks.

“Jack and I will take Lardo,” Holster said, “Since she’s terrible and we’re not.”

“Hey,” Lardo protested from the bench, but looked as though she couldn’t care less.

Playing with the old team again was probably the best present Jack could have asked for. The best part is that they were just as voracious as he remembered, and within fifteen minutes, Shitty, Ransom and Bitty teamed together were  _ pummelling  _ Jack and Holster’s combined efforts.

“Alright,” Jack panted, after twenty minutes. “Let’s wrap up and do shootouts.”

“Aye aye,  _ captain _ ,” Shitty grinned, skating past and punching Jack’s bicep. Bitty skated up next to him, knocking their shoulders together and smiling, and Jack felt whole.

* * *

It was 3am when they all decided to drunkenly figure out sleeping arrangements. 

“‘S an easy solution.” Shitty said, dangling his beer bottle out in front of him. “Three rooms and a couch. Six of us. Lardo in Bitty’s room. Rans and Holtzy in the spare. Me on the couch. Bits and Jack in Jack’s room.”

Jack was teetering on the edge of tipsy, full of birthday cake and fancy craft beer, all too aware of Bitty’s head resting on his thigh, where he was dozing on the sofa.

“Sound good, Bittle?” Jack asked, tugging on Bitty’s earlobe to get Bitty to look up at him, letting his finger curl into a strand of hair falling down over Bitty’s cheek from his forehead.

“Fine, but we all know Shitty’s gonna sneak into my bed to snuggle with Lardo and I swear to  _ god _ if either of you desecrate my sacred space, I will have your  _ hides _ .”

The group erupted with laughter, and Jack found himself leaving his hand resting gently in Bitty’s hair, until the sun started to come up and everyone decided it was time for bed.

Jack’s eyes felt dry and heavy as he made his way through his routine before bed. From his ensuite he could hear Lardo and Bitty in the main bathroom, brushing their teeth and laughing, Lardo saying something that made Bitty squawk indignantly, and made Lardo laugh unabashedly. Coming back to the bedroom he found Bitty already there, in his t-shirt and shorts, climbing into Jack’s bed, and he felt his stomach twist pleasantly at the sight.

“Oh,” Jack said, and Bitty froze, turning to look at him.

“Yeah, Jack?”

Jack blinked. “Just, realised I’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours,” he said, blinking.

“Yeah, I went back to bed after you left this morning, in anticipation of this,” Bitty teased, and it’s such an offhandedly domestic comment, that Jack has to stop, just to watch Bitty slide his legs under the bed covers, and look up at him. Waiting so patiently.

“Are you coming?”

Jack turned out the lights, finding the bed by memory, carefully laying down as his eyes adjusted to the dawn light peaking in under his curtains. Bitty had his eyes closed, his head tucked in, so Jack reached out and cupped his elbow, tugging him closer.

Bitty blinked up at him, eyes somehow wide and sleepy all at once, smiling beneath a fan of golden lashes. Jack pulled, until Bitty could tuck himself in under Jack’s arm, just like that night in the Haus only a few months ago.

Jack thought that if he didn’t say anything now, he’d probably chicken out all together.

“I made a plan,” he whispered, and Bitty hummed sleepily against the side of Jack’s chest, encouraging him to go on. “For coming out.”

Bitty lifted his head suddenly, nose brushing against Jack’s collarbone, hair tickling his chin. His touch felt soft, but his expression was anything but.

“What are you talking about, Jack?” he asked, his voice steady and quiet in a way that made Jack itch unpleasantly.

“I’m going to come out,” he said, gently. “Officially, to the press. To everyone.”

Bitty stared at him for a long time, brow furrowed and mouth set in a grim line. Finally, he asked one thing. “ _ Why? _ ”

‘Because,” Jack sighed, “It’s what I need to do.”

“But  _ why _ ?”

Jack shrugged one shoulder, peering down at Bitty, and giving him a gentle squeeze around the waist.

“I want to be with you,” he said, softly. “And I think you want to be with me too.”

Bitty pulled back, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights, almost panicked.

“Jack—”

“And on the off chance that things could ever happen between us, I didn’t want you to have to go back into hiding. I didn’t want you to have a secret boyfriend, or pretend to be something you’re not. If that was something I was okay with, I would have never asked you to live with me. You’d still be in Georgia.”

Bitty seemed sceptical, still radiating panic with his wide eyes.

“For me? You’d risk your career for me?”

“The Falcs are behind me on this,” Jack insisted. “Anyway, who cares, right? I’m twenty-seven. I play hockey. I’m in love with a boy, and I’m really happy? For possibly the first time in my life.”

Bitty laughed, dislodging his hand from between them to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh.

“I can’t believe I’m drunk while you’re making confessions of love here.”

“You’re not drunk,” Jack rolled his eyes. “You’re fine. Why do you always blame your emotions on alcohol?”

“Old habits die hard.”

“Bitty…” They were lying so close now, almost nose to nose, and if Jack dipped his head just a little bit more he could… “Do you want to do this?”

“I—  _ yes _ , Jack, of course I want to— I’ve been gone on you for so damn long. You don’t just  _ un- _ feel that way about someone.”

Jack laughed, pressing a kiss to Bitty’s forehead, and then his cheek, and then tipping his chin up with a single finger to capture his mouth. Bitty stretched up to press deeper into the kiss, his mouth warm and soft, inviting as he spread his hands across Jack’s chest.

Jack could feel sunrays warming his feet at the end of the bed. Bitty was smiling into his mouth, sighing happily, stroking his fingers down Jack’s abs and back up again, too thrilled to be anything but handsy and eager.

Jack’s alarm radio went off on the nightstand, and Jack groaned as he pulled away to turn it off, squinting at the numbers on the LCD display.

“Think I’ll be skipping that optional practice today, eh?” he asked, and Bitty laughed, reeling him in for another kiss.

* * *

Bitty greeted him in the evening with pancakes, and everything was suddenly the same as it always was. Except for the tender kiss pressed to his mouth in front of their friends as he sat down at the table, the way Bitty dragged his fingers back through Jack’s hair, and smiled warmly at him. The way everything felt like it was finally falling right into place.  _ That _ was all new, but Jack would eat his hat before he said it didn’t feel like the most natural thing in the world.

As it turned out, Bitty was his everything. His teammate, his housemate —

Jack thought Bitty might just be his  _ soulmate _ , too.

 


End file.
